


Pandora's Box

by heavenseed



Category: The Walking Dead (Comics), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Sex, Awkward Sexual Situations, Blow Jobs, Developing Relationship, Drabbles, First Time, Gay!Daryl, Kissing, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship, Random & Short, m/m - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2020-10-27 17:15:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20764019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavenseed/pseuds/heavenseed
Summary: Drabbles, short one-shots, ideas, prompts.  Some will be a higher rating than others, the rating will be in the chapter title.





	1. Tupelo Honey (T)

It had taken them months to get to this point. Where Paul could stand to have Daryl’s gentle hands on him, touching him, taking care of him. The point at which Daryl could, and would, reach out to seek comfort, to just experience the warmth of another person’s embrace. 

Paul sat in a camp chair outside the tiny travel trailer at their outpost, wearing only his cargo pants and boots. Daryl knelt in front of him, a stew pot full of rainwater between them. With gentle, efficient hands he cleaned away blood, entrails, sweat, and dirt from Paul’s skin. The water was just on the comfortable side of lukewarm, though goosebumps rose up in the wake of the wet cloth. The cleanest water was used to work the blood out of Paul’s beard, familiar hands holding his jaw, caressing his forehead as the water ran in rivulets down his temple. With practiced movements, Daryl cleaned the long expanse of Paul’s throat, wiping away caked sweat and dirt. Occasionally, he would have to take longer to scrub off blood spray, now dried. 

Paul didn’t move as the other man shifted to wring out the cloth, the familiar splash of water on water as the drops hit the pot didn’t register. He stared off into space, letting Daryl wash off the gore and exertion. Daryl watched as Paul’s eyes focused not on the forest around them but on the memory of their horrible day. He worked the wet cloth across Paul’s clavicle, across to each defined bicep, which was less dirt-covered, having been covered in cotton and leather. He cleaned each arm—which Paul let him work with detached cooperation—before moving to his chest. Daryl moved down, taking great care in being thorough, Paul’s sensitive stomach not flinching from the coolness of the wash water, even when Daryl had to work out a large mat of dried mud and rotting tissue from the thick hair below his navel. 

Daryl saved Paul’s hands for last, having pulled off Paul’s gloves, but still finding knuckles caked with blood. Reverently, he washed Paul’s fingers one by one, tracing the lines across his palms, feeling the steady flutter of the other man’s pulse beneath his fingertips. He had seen these hands rip open another human being, had seen them throw a knife with deadly accuracy. Paul’s hands had also caught a baby as it came into the world with a wail and held countless friends as they took their last breaths. Daryl thought them beautiful, those hands. Scarred and calloused, the long fingers were weathered and deft in their knowledge of pain and comfort. Daryl swallowed, remembering those hands on himself, how they had worshiped him. 

Paul had been the reluctant one. Afraid to get too close to anyone, lest he lose them. Daryl saw how the man could turn on his Jesus persona at will, but would retreat to being lonely, insecure Paul when he thought no one was looking. But Daryl saw. And when Paul would laugh at Daryl’s dry humor or blush furiously at an off-hand compliment, he saw himself in the younger man. As wise, patient and kind as Jesus could be to others, Paul was not so with himself. Daryl’s found family had taught him how to show and receive affection, something he lacked so completely throughout his life. Seeing the same in Paul broke his heart. 

He started by opening up to the younger man, being honest and candid whenever they started talking about Before. He modeled the brotherly affection he got from Rick and Glenn and Abraham. He would back off when Paul would flinch away from a friendly pat on the back or pull back as if he was being burned when their fingers would meet while working. Paul knew how to block a punch, how to manipulate someone who wanted to cause him harm, but intentional affection was a foreign concept. Daryl knew it all too well. 

Slowly, Daryl decreased the personal space he allowed between himself and Paul, infinitesimal increments over months of runs, hunting, and working. Three months ago, he and Paul had been laughing together, sitting around a campfire, and Paul had relaxed against Daryl’s broad shoulder, completely at ease, a tiny smile playing against his lips. Daryl let the younger man lounge against him, until he started nodding off. With reluctance, and a crick in his neck, he moved to the other side of the fire, making Paul promise to wake him in three hours. The hunter drifted off watching the ninja through the flames of the campfire, Paul sharpening his knives to pass the time. 

Today, comfortable in their intimacy, Daryl gave Paul’s hand an affectionate squeeze, which only momentarily made Paul acknowledge him. “I’m gonna warm this up. Gotta wash your hair.” He received only a nod in return, and then Paul’s eyes slipped back into an unfocused gaze. Daryl moved the pot to the embers of their campfire and retreated into the trailer to pull out clean clothes for each of them. He had already changed his own cargo pants and his button-up flannel was now ash in the firepit. He pulled a worn t-shirt over the thin tank top he wore, his own skin wiped clean as well. 

Returning, Daryl knelt in front of Paul and tapped the cuff of one combat boot. Paul let him take his foot out of the boot, the wet squelch of his sock soaked through with blood not an unfamiliar sound. Bloody socks were tossed into the fire, and feet cleaned with the damp cloth, leaving them to dry. 

“You gotta get out of your head.” Daryl said softly. He pulled the pot of water off the fire and moved behind Paul. 

Paul didn’t look at Daryl, but responded with a flat affect, “They were just kids. Babies. The oldest couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven.” He swallowed thickly and closed his eyes. 

“I know. And now they’re at peace.” With the warmed water and a nearly empty bottle of shampoo, Daryl began working the knots and dried blood out of Paul’s long hair. With practiced fingers, he worked the soap through, rinsing when the suds were light pink. Locks the color of Tupelo honey were rinsed clean; great care was taken to massage the grit and dirt from the underlying scalp. Paul leaned his head back and let the soapy water run down his shoulders and over the chair. 

When Daryl began wrapping the wet hair in a towel, Paul finally opened his eyes to look up at the sky. “I remember the first time I had my hands in this hair,“ Daryl began brushing Paul’s hair, now clean. “I had to hold you still, keep you from running away. I would dream about this hair. It was all I could see, as I was chasing you, around corners and long hallways. Just out of reach.” 

The memory of Daryl reaching up to take the tie out of Paul’s hair in the stables at Hilltop as they put their horses to bed pulled a small smile from the detached blankness of Paul’s face. With trembling fingers, Daryl had combed through the freed locks and pulled out errant pieces of hay. In the stables, Paul had turned to face the larger man and despite their size difference and proximity, he didn’t feel trapped. Daryl’s hands stilled, tangled in Paul’s hair. “Is this OK?” he asked, voice barely a whisper. Before Paul could complete the word “Yes,” Daryl had captured his mouth in a kiss. 

Today, Paul finally smiled as Daryl towel-dried his hair. “You got me.” Paul reached up to pull Daryl’s hand down so he could kiss the rough skin where thumb met hand. 

“You got me.” Daryl agreed. He leaned down and kissed the crown of Paul’s head. “We goin’ home?” 

“No. I can’t let this get to me. I –“ 

“No.” Daryl interrupted. “It needs to get to us. It needs to hurt.” Daryl knelt in front of Paul again and took both of his hands. “If it don’t hurt…” His voice cracked with emotion, “If it don’t hurt, we may as well be walkers.” 

Paul searched his lover’s face for a long moment. The weathered, scarred face he had grown to love so deeply. Unshed tears hung like crystals in Daryl’s eyes. Tears he’d obviously kept at bay so he could take care of Paul. Like he did everything, Paul gracefully slid out the camp chair and onto Daryl’s lap, enveloping him in a tight embrace. He realized then that Daryl was just as broken from everything they had lost, everything they’d witnessed, everything they continued to lose. “Thank you.” 

Daryl could feel Paul’s realization in that embrace and tucked his head into Paul’s neck with a sob. They held each other there until they were both able to breathe. 

  


*********

After that first fleeting kiss in the stable, Paul had avoided Daryl for two days. Daryl let the other man have some space, but by dinner time on the second day, he had to track him down. 

Paul stood, arms crossed and tense, against one of the pillars on the porch of Barrington House. Daryl watched him from the doorway for a few moments, the waning daylight burnishing Paul’s hair with copper and bronze highlights as the wind blew through it. Silently, Daryl moved to stand beside Paul on the top step, enjoying the slight jolt of surprise Paul gave when he started to speak. 

“You ain’t getting rid of me, you know that, right?” Daryl looked out over Hilltop, not turning to make eye contact. His voice was soft; a tone Daryl used with horses and babies. 

Paul drew in a sharp breath. He hadn’t expected acceptance and patience. They were close enough to feel each other’s warmth, but far enough apart that either of them could walk away. “I just need time to process.” He didn’t move a muscle, afraid of what getting any closer would do to him. He was just close enough to smell the scent of woodsmoke and Ivory soap coming off the man next to him.

Daryl pulled his vest around himself and grinned out at the bustling community. “Process huh? I ain’t goin’ nowhere. I care about you, Paul. Probably more than I should. You take all the time you need to _process_. I’ll be here.” Daryl continued down the steps and toward the stables, leaving Paul speechless. 

After dinner, Paul brought a plate to the gate where Sasha kept watch. He leaned over the wall as Sasha sat and helped herself to the kale salad and a freshly baked dinner roll. 

“Leave it to Eugene to figure out how to substitute sorghum for flour.” Sasha took a large bite and moaned. “And thank God for butter!” 

Paul just hummed in a non-committal response. Sasha set her bowl down and stood up next to Paul. Crickets had begun to sing in the near dark, growing louder as the stars came out. 

“What’s got you so quiet, Jesus?” Paul just shrugged, but Sasha would not let it go so easily. “Seems like you got a lot on your mind.” 

Paul looked over and smiled at his friend. He could count his friends on one hand, opening up to them being the hardest part and the reason he had so few. “No, not a lot. Just one. One thing. One… person, really.” 

Sasha’s eyebrows rose with curiosity. “Somebody got you all quiet and contemplating?” She waited several long moments for Paul to elaborate. 

When he just grinned into the night, she sat back down with a huff. “Fine. Keep your secrets.” She took a large forkful of salad and shoved it in her mouth. 

Bones heavy with his swirling thoughts, Paul lowered himself down on the catwalk next to Sasha, landing heavily beside her, pulling his knees up to his chest. “If you must know… It’s Daryl.” 

Sasha nearly choked. Mouth full of food, she asked, “Darow Disson?” Sasha covered her mouth to prevent spraying food all over Paul. She swallowed; eyes wide. “Our Daryl?” 

“The very same.” Paul scrubbed his hands over his face. 

Sasha stared expectantly. “And?” She backhanded Paul’s knee and wiggled closer. 

He sighed. Absentmindedly picking at the splitting wood, Paul began. “We’ve been getting closer… especially lately. We work really well together, spend a lot of time together. And a couple of days ago, he kissed me.” 

Sasha sat straight up, face a mask of amusement and disbelief. “He kissed you?” Paul simply nodded. “So, are you two a thing now?” 

“I don’t know.” 

Sasha scoffed at the reply. “You don’t know? Junkyard dog, mean motherfucker, Daryl Dixon kisses you and you don’t know?” Paul did his best to meet Sasha’s eyes. “What the hell? I don’t know whether to hug you or give you a black eye.” Sasha chuckled. 

“I’d take the hug.” Paul replied. Sasha pulled Paul into a side hug, which he was unable to return due to his position. 

She sat back, eyebrows knit with worry. “You don’t seem too happy about it though.” 

Paul hung his head. “I am. I’ve never had more than ‘friends with benefits,’ and God, I want more than that. But… I don’t know what I would do if he left out of this gate and never came home.” 

Sasha squeezed Paul’s shoulder affectionately. “Let me tell you something about Daryl. He didn’t have much to lose when things went to hell. His racist, homophobic brother died to give him a chance. He lost his brother, but he gained so much more. He spent weeks looking for Maggie’s sister, and then when he got her back, she was killed right in front of us,” Sasha’s voice broke. Taking a deep breath, and holding on to Paul’s shoulder, she continued. “He never said, but that broke him. He loved Beth. Like a sister, or, well, I don’t even know. And now he wants to build something with you?” The woman’s features were hard, determined, though tears broke onto her cheeks as she tried to explain why it was so important for Paul to let Daryl in. Her wavering voice left no question about the seriousness of her words. “Beth changed him; we all changed him. He’s putting so much on the line for you! You better take it.” 

Paul tore his gaze away from Sasha. He knew everything she said to be true. 

He was quiet then whispered, “I don’t want to fuck this up.” 

“Sasha!” The man himself called up to the platform, where he knew Sasha to be keeping watch. His shout startled the pair sitting together. “Paul up there with you?” 

“Yep, he’s taking over so I can eat. C’mon up.” Sasha took her bowl and stood, slinging her rifle across her back. She kicked Paul’s foot with her own hiking boot. “You gotta try.” 

As they met at the end of the platform, Sasha gave Daryl an affectionate, one-armed hug. He caught her eye and frowned at her knowing smile. 

“Did you eat?” Daryl asked as Paul stood up next to him. “Yeah.” Paul put his hands in his back pockets, trying not to fidget as Daryl looked at him with such affection. Daryl chewed nervously on his lower lip. “Didn’t wanna bug you, just wanted to make sure you’re eatin’.” 

Paul smiled; the full-on mischievous megawatt smile Daryl adored. “You takin care of me now?” 

He leaned closer to Daryl, eyes sparkling. Daryl leaned in closer to Paul. “Someone’s gotta. Told you I ain’t goin’ nowhere.” He didn’t hesitate when the urge to touch Paul’s face made his fingers tingle, and the other man couldn’t help but lean into Daryl’s hand. 

There was the faintest bit of blue still glowing on the horizon, the wind still blowing as the stars began to come to life in the sky. In the haze of dusk, Paul’s eyes were fathoms deep. Daryl felt as if he would fall in to those blue-green orbs and get lost. He loved watching the emotions play on Paul’s face, and did not miss those eyes flicking down to his own lips. 

“This OK?” Daryl slid his hand to Paul’s neck and into his hair. Paul just nodded and closed the few inches of space between them, gently taking the lapels of Daryl’s vest in his hands. From her vantage point a few yards into Hilltop, Sasha could see the dark outline of the men. The blue glow of the last sliver of daylight shone between them. The space between the two figures closed as they kissed, merging into one black silhouette. 

Sasha let out a “Whoop!” of joy, and then turned away, suddenly aware that everyone at Hilltop would look her way. The pair on watch was visible to everyone, if they cared to look. She walked back to the big house with a lump in her throat.


	2. Coracobrachialis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul catches Daryl working out. (T)

The Kingdom’s gym would rival any prison yard or high-priced gym, and Paul Rovia intended to take full advantage of it now that the war was over. He was by no means getting soft, but now that hand-to-hand combat wasn’t a daily occurrence, he needed to make time to stay in shape. He rose with the sun, threw on a pair of sweats and a loose tank. Quietly, made his way to the basement of the elementary school-cum-housing, expecting to find the work out space empty. Looking through the wire-embedded glass of the door, he could see a lone figure inside, rhythmically breaking the shadows as they moved. The long windows on either side of the gym shone milky morning light onto the wooden floor. It took a moment for Paul to reconcile what he was seeing. Daryl Dixon hung from the pull-up bar by his knees, hands behind his head, performing crunches in which he alternated touching each elbow to the opposite knee. He was shirtless, his eyes closed in concentration, sweat running rivulets down his body and onto the mat below.

Paul froze with his hand on the door to the gym, and in the still hallway he could hear the straining grunts and exhales as Daryl worked. Paul’s mouth went dry at the sight. Every sinewy muscle was outlined in sharp relief, dark hair plastered to a face pinched in effort. He had admired the other man from afar since they met nearly three months ago, but Daryl was unapproachable then, pulling a supernatural amount of self-restraint from somewhere and focusing all his attention on the war. Watching him like this, though, unguarded, wearing only a threadbare pair of cotton shorts, he was so gorgeously human. 

Daryl paused, completely stretched out and reached his heads out over his head, fingertips brushing the mat. With a long exhale he brought his entire body up to the bar, grasped it and released his legs from their position over it. Without stopping, he let his legs dangle and began doing pull-ups in earnest. Paul took a long pull of oxygen, realizing he had been holding his breath. Between the sight of those broad shoulders working and watching droplets of sweat work their way over scars and tattoos, he knew he’d need a moment to think down the erection he’d developed watching Daryl. A cold shower might be in order as well.

“Morning Rovia!” Dianne’s voice carried down the long hallway, breaking Paul out of his reverie. He would deny that he jumped until the day he died. “You’re up early.” Dianne didn’t hesitate to push open the gym door, giving Paul a knowing smirk as she edged past him in the doorway. Paul bowed his head and gave himself a mental shake as Dianne flipped on the harsh overhead lights in the gym.

The spell was broken, and Daryl let himself drop to the mat as Dianne called out a “Good morning.” He quickly grabbed his towel and vigorously rubbed at his soaking hair. Paul tried to ignore the other two and dropped down to the mat to stretch. Dianne was busy setting up the Pilates machine to her liking as Daryl sat in the bleachers, guzzling water like it was his job. Paul began his stretching routine, but he found himself distracted. He could feel Daryl’s blue eyes watching him from across the room. Only Dianne’s voice, once again, broke his focus.

“Dixon, maybe you should have Jesus look at your shoulder.” Dianne called over to the bleachers. Daryl sat rolling his shoulder and massaging over the scar tissue; the gunshot wound a reminder of so much pain.

Paul approached Daryl warily, one hand holding his opposite elbow in an unconscious defensive posture, expecting a verbal lashing and dismissal. “You think you can help loosen it up?” Daryl asked, looking through his shaggy hair. Paul literally took a step back, completely thrown off by Daryl’s unapologetic request. Paul’s face lit up in a smile and he came to stand in front of the other man.

“Yeah, I think I can. Used to be a massage therapist. Among other things.”

Daryl snorted a laugh and smiled. “Of course you did.” He guzzled the last of his water, and Paul watched, gaping at the long, thick line of Daryl’s throat and the bob of his Adam’s apple as he finished. 

Shaking himself, Paul gestured to Daryl’s shoulder. “Can I take a look?”

Daryl just pulled his towel off his shoulder and nodded, patiently watching Paul climb over the bleachers to sit knee to knee with him. Paul saw the tiny flinch, the barely there narrowing of his eyes and the immediate tension in his body, as he reached out to touch Daryl. “I’m just going to test your range of motion.” Paul’s hands hovered over Daryl’s shoulder and he waited until the tension subsided. It was a split second, but Paul caught it and it made his heart ache. Did he always flinch when someone tried to touch him? Paul tucked the thought away and began letting his fingers map Daryl’s shoulder and bicep.

Paul watched his fingers as they firmly but gently sought out the damaged anatomy beneath the newly healed skin. Daryl cooperated fully, allowing Paul to manipulate the joint this way and that, his piercing blue eyes never once straying from their gaze. He watched Paul’s face like he watched everything else, learning it, drawing it in his mind’s eye, memorizing it. Every few moments Daryl would groan or hiss as the limit of his range of motion became apparent; he didn’t pull away or get angry however. Finally Paul let his hands fall away from the other man and met Daryl’s eyes.

“I think I can come up with some therapy, a stretching routine and some regular massage.” He shrugged, squirming at Daryl’s intense gaze and hoping the other man didn’t sense the arousal making Paul’s skin hot. Touching that sweat-slick skin, pulling moans out with his fingers; Paul had much to think about later.

Daryl tilted his head and gave Paul a considering look. “Do I get a happy ending too?” He deadpanned.

Paul’s brain fritzed out. _ Did the mercurial hunter just crack a joke? Was that sexual innuendo?_ Before Paul could respond, Daryl’s face cracked into a full on grin, and he laughed. Paul let himself smile and laughed along, still trying to make sense of the question. “Dude, I’m just messin’ with ya.” 

The sight and sound of Daryl laughing set butterflies alight in Paul’s stomach, and for once, the man couldn’t find a witty response. 

“Seriously though,” Daryl pulled on a thin tshirt.

“Yeah, yeah! Let’s work on it while we have time. We’ll all be splitting up soon. I’m here every morning when I’m at the Kingdom. Meet back here tomorrow?” Paul’s defensive posture came back.

Daryl nodded and climbed down the bleachers. “It’s a date.” He smirked at Paul before striding out of the gym, leaving the other man standing in the bleachers, once again speechless.


	3. All Along the Watch Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl is too obvious. (G)

Whenever he wasn’t on the road, going on a run, Paul ‘Jesus’ Rovia always took the afternoon watch shift. He enjoyed having time to think, time to be still. He would stand like a post-apocalyptic oracle above the settlement of Hilltop, assault rifle strapped over one shoulder, his leather duster and long hair catching the breeze. Periodically he would walk along the wall where scaffolding provided height, using the rifle’s scope to look out beyond the walls. At the beginning and end of his shift, he would patrol the outside of the walls, taking stock of weak points or any large congregations of walkers.  


Every now and again, he would turn as if someone had called his name, scanning the community for the source. But no one had called him. Rather, he reacted to the uncanny sensation of being watched. 

Indeed, from the corner of Barrington House, or from the window of the tiny trailer they called home, Daryl was watching him. Sometimes Daryl would take the same watch shift on the other side of the community just to be able to see the other man’s silhouette against the evening sky. Daryl stopped himself from defining why he enjoyed watching Paul from afar. He chalked it up to natural curiosity, to trying to make the community work. Delving further would have meant admitting more to himself than he was willing.

Evening approached slowly at Hilltop; most people rose before the sun to eek out every minute possible. Even if they were working, every minute of *life* was precious. Often, the watchperson would be relieved of duty by a friend bearing hot food, and they would eat together before turning over the rifle and giving report. These days there was little to report. Trade with other communities was on a schedule, and with a truce called among them, there was less to fear and more to look forward to. A shortwave radio had replaced messengers from the communities, and information was getting to people faster. Communities could broadcast recordings that might bring in more survivors, or they could stay radio silent when needed. Four trading communities had become six, and a concerted effort to map the surrounding area as it was scavenged was underway. Both Daryl and Jesus played a big part in keeping their new little world running, and when the community noticed either of them standing guard, fairly relaxed, they breathed a sigh of relief.

This evening brought Tara to the back watch, carrying two covered bowls. Daryl met her halfway down the ladder and took a bowl, helping her the rest of the way up with the food. They sat on the edge of the platform, legs dangling, looking out over the settlement. Tara pulled a roll from her pocket and handed one to Daryl without comment. They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, though Tara was just waiting for her moment to break it.

“You know,” she said around a bite of food. She swallowed and waited until she sensed Daryl’s attention. “For someone on backside watch, you sure do look out the gate side a lot.” She didn’t look his way, but Daryl did turn to her – she had his full attention. “I mean, the view from here is pretty nice, if you know, you’re into that.” She took a bite of her roll. They could see the black outline of Jesus, as he spoke animatedly to someone on the ground.

“Aint much to see either way.” Daryl turned back to his food.

Tara snorted. “Yeah, whatever, stalker. You might be stealthy in the woods, archer-man, but you are all too obvious –“ 

Daryl got to his feet as though Tara had never spoken. He motioned for her bowl. Tara all but openly pouted as she handed him her bowl. He nested them together and started down the ladder. Tara watched him go. From the ground, Daryl didn’t look up, but said, “Rifle’s fully loaded, there’s some extra rounds in that box there. Leroy will be by around midnight.”

He turned to leave, but then stilled. He finally looked up at Tara, her eyes smiling. “And Tara? Mind your own damned business.” Tara stuck her tongue out at her friend and flipped him off as she adjusted the rifle on her back. Daryl returned the gesture and turned to walk back to Barrington House. 

Tara didn’t catch the smirk that played on his lips as he faded into the long shadows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love a good bread roll. And the trope of talking while keeping watch is a good way to explore dialog between different characters.


	4. Teres Major (E)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul has developed a treatment plan for Daryl's injured shoulder.

From the bowels of one of the school buildings, a Kingdom guard had unearthed a massage table, after hearing from Dianne that Paul might need one. Armed with duct tape and a washcloth, he cleaned and patched it up, replaced the hinges and buckle locks and made room for it in the truck going back to Hilltop. True to his word, Paul was up before the sun rose, spending more time than strictly necessary getting ready to meet Daryl in the gym. He had spent the entire day previous working on the massage table, packing it away and then making a treatment plan.

Daryl was already in the gym, doing pull-ups. He must have been there for some time, his hair wet with sweat, beads of perspiration sliding off his biceps. Paul could have watched Daryl work out all day, but eventually he would be caught staring again. With a deep breath, Paul stepped into the gym and turned on the lights.

“You ever sleep?” Paul asked as Daryl dropped from the bar as the harsh fluorescents sizzled to life.

Daryl started to towel himself off. “Not really. Never have.” Daryl was nonchalant. “Whatcha got for me?”

Paul set his gym bag on the bleachers and pulled out a well-loved sketchbook. Daryl came up behind him to look over his shoulder. Daryl radiated heat like a furnace and Paul had to steel himself from reacting to their proximity.

“These are the muscles of your shoulder. The gunshot was through and through and luckily didn’t hit any major vessels. It likely tore up these muscles here, though.” Paul pointed to the sketch of the anatomy of a shoulder.

“You draw this?” Daryl turned to look at Paul, nonplussed by their closeness. Paul couldn’t turn his head without feeling Daryl’s breath on his skin. “That’s really good.”

Paul blushed, and continued, “I copied it from a textbook in the library. It’s been a while since Anatomy class.” Daryl moved to sit on the bleachers and Paul could breathe again. He sat next to the older man and again referred to his drawing. “You likely have some scar tissue that would hinder movement. If we don’t keep exercising it, it’ll freeze up.”

“Frozen shoulder.” Daryl mumbled.

“Indeed. Also, there’s a lot of lymphatic drainage through here, so keeping all that moving is important. Injury to your arm or hand could cause it to swell up with too much lymph.”

Daryl studied the drawing and frowned, “So what’s the plan Doc?”

“We’ll go through some stretches you can do before and after working out to improve your range of motion and then once we get back to Hilltop, I’ll do some therapeutic massage and lymph node work.”

Daryl nodded along as Paul described his plan. He rubbed the greying scruff on his chin, blue eyes flicking from the drawing to Paul.

“Sounds good, let’s do it.” Daryl clapped Paul on the shoulder as he stood, jumping down from the bleachers. Paul watched him go, admiring the broad back beneath a severely tested cotton t-shirt.

“Most of these you can do anywhere, and while it seems like you’re not doing much, you’re mobilizing the joint in ways that will prevent it from freezing up,” Paul explained as he walked over to the weight bench.

Daryl nodded and hummed his acknowledgment as Paul moved him through the simple routine. Paul was all business as he gently corrected the hunter’s form, explaining why he needed to rotate into certain movements or what a specific stretch was meant to accomplish. For all the warnings he’d heard, and stand-offish behavior Daryl usually exhibited, Paul was allowed into the other man’s personal bubble, allowed to touch him whenever necessary to achieve the right posture.

“How do you feel about yoga?” Paul asked as they both sat drinking their water.

Daryl just shrugged. “Was a lady in our trailer park taught me Tai Chi. When I was a kid, I’d go out hunting by myself and practice.”

Paul just stared at the hunter, unblinking, imagining a young Daryl Dixon in a forest, moving through the poses of Tai Chi. He had just felt the other man’s muscles moving beneath his hands, strong and sure. This new morsel of information just made Paul hunger to know more.

Under Paul’s gaze, Daryl grew self-conscious. “What? Redneck can’t find a little zen out in the woods?” His tone was defensive but lacked the heat of a true Dixon tongue lashing. He narrowed his eyes at Paul in a silent challenge.

Paul was flustered, “No, no, not at all! I mean, cool. I didn’t take you for someone interested in –“

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, man.” Daryl rose from his spot and started for the door. “We’re headed out after breakfast.”

Paul watched the other man leave, scrubbing his towel over his face and letting out the breath he’d been holding the entire time.

******

In his borrowed room at the Kingdom, Paul yanked off his damp clothing and started the adjacent shower, letting it heat up while he fished in his belongings for clean clothes. He ran the last two hours over and over in his mind: the feel of Daryl’s heat against him, the smoothness of his shoulders and the callouses on his hands. He wanted to imprint the feel of tense calf muscles under his fingertips into his brain, the half-smile he would receive when something clicked between them a ghost of a sketch in his mind. Stepping under the spray, he intended to shower quickly and get to the communal breakfast in time to get something hot, but his body had other plans.

In his mind’s eye, Paul recalled the scent of the other man as Daryl leaned over him, clean breath fanning across his skin. He imagined turning and pressing his lips to the stubbly angle of Daryl’s chin, the other man turning to meet his mouth. Daryl’s kiss would be filthy and full of unspoken need. Paul would press his body against the solid mass of muscle that was Daryl Dixon as they tasted each other. In the shower Paul’s hand ghosted over his growing erection, as he pressed his forehead to his arm, bracing himself on the cool tile. He recalled placing his hand on Daryl’s chest to help him regulate his breathing as they worked together that morning, feeling the strained rise and fall of the other man’s chest while working through a twinge of pain. He could make out the tattoo beneath the thin t-shirt, stretched thinner over Daryl’s chest, the letters curved around one taut nipple.

In the heat of the shower, Paul shivered, pinching and twisting one of his own nipples, letting breathy moans fill the small space of the shower. He let his hand trail through the sparse hair on his chest, imagining the hunter’s thick fingers wandering over his sternum and down his stomach to tease at the thicker hair below his navel. He couldn’t help but take his aching cock in his hand, as it stood fully hard and leaking.

The memory of Daryl’s breath, punching out of his lungs with every motion as he worked out, his body glistening with the sheen of perspiration, and the light playing off that skin as he moved fueled Paul’s arousal. He stroked himself in earnest, leaning back to let the hot water spray through his hair and reaching down to press two fingers beneath his testicles. The sensation against his prostate helped him finish quickly, gasping out Daryl’s name within a string of curses.

Feeling a little ashamed, he aimed the showerhead at the mess he’d created on the tile wall, letting his fantasy run down the drain. He washed quickly. Hair still wet, he pulled his clothes on and left the room, as if staying there was evidence of what he had just done.

******

In the small courtyard between buildings, there was still fruit and bread and a carafe of hot instant coffee, much to Paul’s delight. He helped himself to breakfast as he watched the rest of the Kingdom wake. He enjoyed his time there, enjoyed traveling and scouting for Hilltop, but as much as he enjoyed seeing old friends, he was happy to be back on the road. Perhaps a few days at Hilltop to rest up and he would head out to look for people and supplies. _Maybe invite a certain surly hunter along_.

Paul shook his head to clear the thought. Seriously? Daryl wasn’t interested in him. He wasn’t interested in anyone, it seemed.

Finishing his coffee, Paul turned to refill his mug, the man in question filling up his own. Daryl frowned into the cup before taking a drink and grimacing at the sour taste of instant coffee. He took another drink, however. Coffee was coffee.

“Hey Doc.” Daryl grinned over the rim of his mug. He was in a halo of light cast by the rising sun. Paul had to squint to look at him. “You forgot my happy ending.”

Paul nearly choked on his own coffee. It took him a moment to compose himself as Daryl stood smirking at him. “Next time, if you’re up for it.” Paul grinned back and winked.

Daryl’s grin faltered for a split second. Sauntering up to the younger man, Daryl spoke low into Paul’s ear. “I’m holding you to it, Doc.” Daryl kept walking out of the courtyard, bumping Paul’s shoulder as he went.

_Now I know he’s joking_, Paul thought. _He’s totally taking the piss outta me._ He tossed the remaining coffee into the grass, left his mug and trotted off toward the packed vehicles.


	5. Tupelo Honey (cont).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the beach after training, when they don't have to watch their backs. (EXPLICIT)

The flicker of firelight was barely visible through the arthritic knots of branches and bleached roots of whole trees reduced to driftwood on the beach. The tide was out and the sky above was an endless expanse of star-lit sky, stretching past the ocean to connect at the indecipherable horizon. Daryl watched for a moment as Paul combed his fingers through the white sand, picking up a piece of sea glass and examining it in the firelight. He was barefoot, his knives and holster laid across the wood, and his face was full of thoughts of elsewhere, elsewhen. One leg curled beneath him, his other bent to provide something to lean on and his hair flipped to one side, Daryl thought he looked like the cover of a magazine from the Old World. 

“I always thought your eyes looked like sea glass.” Daryl said as he came around the make-shift windbreak. 

Paul gave a shy smile and closed his fist around the piece of glass he had been studying. “You were watching me.”

Daryl offered the other man his canteen before sitting down. “Every chance I get.” Daryl said softly. Paul shifted uncomfortably. He wasn’t used to compliments, especially from Daryl Dixon.

The sound of the ocean and the crackling of the fire filled the early night air. Every now and then the fire would pop and a spray of sparks would reach for the sky, as if to become stars. 

“Why me?” Paul finally asked, head heavy. He walked a fine edge lately, wary of becoming too close to anyone and yet desperately longing to be touched, to have connection. 

Daryl cleared his throat and sat forward, knowing Paul was scared and that he needed to tread lightly. “We ain’t that different, you and me. I was alone and I was real fucked up about it for a long time. It took the world ending for me to find my family, and once I did, I realized I was worth something. You ain’t had that. I see it.” Daryl took Paul’s hand, gently running his thumb over his knuckles. “I know what it’s like to get hurt every time someone touches you. I didn’t know being touched could actually feel good. I want you to. I want you to know that. Really know it.” He squeezed Paul’s hand. Daryl’s voice was low and thick with emotion, sending a tremor through Paul’s slight body. “C’mere.” Daryl motioned for Paul to sit closer and unfurled a blanket.

Paul leaned into Daryl’s side, blanket enveloping them both. Daryl’s broad shoulder made for a comfortable spot to rest his head. Daryl pulled Paul close, his arm coming firmly around the other man’s waist.

“This OK?” Daryl turned to place his lips against Paul’s forehead, leaving a gentle kiss there. 

Paul sighed. “I don’t know how to do this. I know what I want, but it scares the shit out of me.” He gave a wry laugh, looking into the flames.

“I know.” Daryl nuzzled his face into Paul’s hair, where he could smell the salt of the ocean, the tang of sweat from a hard day of work, and a scent he could only describe as Paul. It was intoxicating. 

Daryl’s lips found the shell of Paul’s ear and began to worry and kiss the sensitive skin there. Paul leaned in to give Daryl better access. He hit a particularly ticklish spot, and Paul turned to him abruptly.

“Daryl, I –“ Paul was struck speechless by the look on Daryl’s face. For a split second terror shot through Paul’s body. He stood on a cliff’s edge looking down into the abyss that was Daryl’s unabashed desire, scared to jump, terrified of what might happened if he walked away, and too damned curious to find out what was at the bottom. He turned, surging up to press his lips against Daryl’s. He could get drunk on kissing, tasting this man. Their kiss was hungry; teeth and tongues exploring one another and trying to convey all they wanted, like trying to listen while speaking. It was quick but deep, and they broke apart panting.

“You want me to stop?” Daryl husked. His lips glistened in the firelight and Paul couldn’t look away.

Swallowing thickly, Paul replied, “No.” He moved to kiss Daryl again, but the larger man stopped him.

“You gotta tell me if this gets too much.”

Paul’s heart swelled with gratitude. Daryl making sure he was okay with where their night was headed, when he could have taken the wheel and went anywhere he wanted – it was one of the many things that drew Paul to him. With a nod and a fist full of Daryl’s hair, Paul pulled their mouths together once more.

One of the hunter’s big hands wound its way into Paul’s hair, while the other held on to his hip, thumb stroking the sliver of flesh bared as Paul leaned into the kiss. Daryl learned that his lover liked when he sucked on his bottom lip, or nipped at it with restrained teeth, and that it drew out a delicious whimper.

With a frustrated groan at their awkward position, Paul broke the kiss and in one fluid movement was straddling Daryl, back to the fire, blanket left to pool around their legs. He gazed down into Daryl’s dark eyes and smiled as the hunter’s big hands drove his shirt up his body, measuring the expanse of flank and stomach and chest. The heat of being in Daryl’s hands was overwhelming. Paul gracefully pulled off his shirt and tossed it aside.

Daryl was awe-struck. This man, who he had spent nearly a year trying to get close to, was now sitting in his lap, letting him look and touch and taste. He could hear his heartbeat thundering in his ears in time with the surf just a few feet away. He pulled Paul closer and placed a kiss over his heart, pressing his nose into the solid wall of muscle there. 

Paul cradled Daryl’s head in his hands as the hunter moved to kiss and taste every inch of his chest and neck, testing out what made him gasp or tremble. When Daryl’s mouth found a pert nipple and began to worry it with his tongue, Paul’s hips involuntarily surged forward. Daryl’s arms tightened around the slim hips in his arms, so that every primal undulation of Paul’s body would have their straining arousal grinding against one another. 

Gasping, Daryl came up for air. Paul pulled at the back of his shirt and Daryl sat forward to let him take it off. They were pressed together stomach to chest, until Paul moved to mouth at the hunter’s neck. With lips and teeth Paul found the spot that sent a full-body shudder through Daryl, drawing out a moaned curse. Daryl’s hands couldn’t stop mapping the deliciously smooth skin layered over Paul’s muscular frame, finding the man’s cargo pants in the way of his exploration. His large, warm hands reached around and down. Paul whimpered into Daryl’s mouth as they kissed and they both became more bold. One hand held fast to Paul’s thigh as the other followed the cleft of his ass; Paul could feel his lover smile when his body jerked forward with the sensation of blunt but clever fingers against him. The hunter rubbed against the seam of Paul’s pants, so close, but so far away from being able to press inside. Paul’s body unconsciously began to move against the man below him in that familiar and intimate rhythm only lovers know.

Daryl tried to focus on Paul’s pleasure, tried to keep the pooling arousal he felt in his gut to a low simmer. He wanted Paul to know what it felt like to be made love to. He wanted to show him what it was like to be treasured. But Paul gave as good as he got. The more Daryl touched him, the more Paul touched back. He tried to pull the smaller man against himself and allow him to just experience this physical expression of his affection, but Paul trembling and writhing in his arms was too much. Feeling the reaction Paul had to his fingers through layers of cloth, the pulsing grind of their cocks against one other nearly drove him over the edge. He cupped Paul’s face in his hands as they kissed and then pulled away, pressing their foreheads together.

“We have all night, baby.” Daryl pulled away to see Paul halfway to wrecked, lips swollen and moist, hair a mess.

“I know,” Paul panted, “This is just so… you’re just so… Different. Good.” He closed his eyes for a moment. With a laugh he said, “I just want you so bad and it terrifies me.”

Daryl gave a heavy sigh and raised his head, tiling Paul’s face up so he could look into his eyes. “Ain’t nothin to be afraid of. I got you.” 

Eyes the color of sea glass gazed into ones the color of the sky during a storm, the dampened fire reflected in them both. Paul brushed the hair away from Daryl’s face and pulled him in to a heated kiss.  


With no hesitation, they continued where they left off, Paul reaching down to find Daryl’ belt buckle. He was not shy about appreciating the erection on the other side of the zipper, swallowing the resulting sounds from deep in the hunter’s chest. The button and zipper were harder to maneuver, finally forcing them apart once more.

Daryl tugged at Paul’s own belt. “Take these off.”

With a mischievous grin, Paul disentangled himself and stood, blood rushing to his lower legs. Daryl stood and picked up their blanket, shaking it out and spreading it over the sand. Paul tossed a few smaller pieces of wood on the fire causing sparks to fly. He watched as Daryl found the canteen and took a few long pulls from it as he started to unzip his worn jeans. The hunter smirked and handed the canteen over, sitting on the blanket to pull off his pants and boxer briefs. He turned to look up at Paul and came face to face with the other man’s leaking cock in all its glory, just a few inches from his face. 

Paul was quick, but Daryl was quicker, both of the smaller man’s thighs in the hunter’s hands in one heartbeat, the entirety of Paul’s manhood in his mouth in the next. Paul moaned through a string of curses as the other man’s lips massaged his entire length, while curious hands travelled up to tease him. Through heavy-lidded eyes Paul watched while Daryl worshipped him with his mouth. He wet two fingers with a generous amount of saliva and pressed them against Paul’s anus, teasing, but not breeching the tight opening, which had Paul nearly bucking into Daryl’s eager mouth.

“Please… please… too much.” Paul whimpered. He was getting close and while Daryl most certainly wanted to take him there, he wanted more. Paul took Daryl’s hands in his and guided the other man to stand with him. 

“I’m sorry – “

“Sshhh…” Paul put the tips of his fingers on Daryl’s swollen mouth to stop his apology. “Don’t talk.” He guided the hunter’s solid arms around himself and kissed him, taking the liberty to work the rest of his clothes off. 

They spent the rest of the night on the beach next to a modest fire, inhibitions long forgotten.


End file.
